my story
by MaybellineD.Spring
Summary: This is how my life was saved.


11 September 2013

Memoir

Shadow in Me

As the alarm pulled me from my sleep, I felt a familiar darkness settle in my mind. I forced myself out of my bed; forced myself to face the day, though I didn't want to. Pushing through my morning routine, the darkness in my mind started whispering. "You have to be perfect." it said to me. "You have to be good, and you can't be bad. You have to smile, you can't be sad, and you can't be like her. You have to be different, you have to make them proud, and you have to show them that you're different. You. Have. To. Be. Perfect." I collapsed on the floor, begging God to take the pain away, but as I begged, the darkness in my mind grew bigger and its whisper turned to a yell.

When I managed to pick myself up off the ground, I made my way downstairs. My mother's voice hit my ears, and I calculated that she was on the phone, most likely for a substitute job. I went into the kitchen and smiled at her, mouthing "good morning." She nodded in response, oblivious of my forced smile, and left the room, continuing her conversation. I turned to the cabinet and took my pills out, swallowing them all at once, but as I swallowed, something caught my eye. The kitchen knives sat beside me on the counter, freshly sharpened.

I picked up the long-paring knife, feeling its weight in my hand. I slipped the knife off the counter, putting the blade against the inside of my forearm, hiding it. Watching my mom carefully, I walked to my school bags and pulled my purse out from under them. Then I slipped the knife into the purse. It was easily concealed, with it only being six inches including the handle. After I made sure the knife was properly concealed, I walked back to the kitchen and prepared my breakfast.

Ten minutes later my father came in to pick me up and take me to school. I got my bags ready, hugged my mom, and went to the car with my dad. The car ride started off quiet but then my dad asked me a question. I turned to him and nodded, but then he gave me a weird look. My mind turn on then and I started talking non-stop, just like I did every other morning, as if nothing was wrong. Little did he know that the whole time I talked, I played with the blade of the knife in my purse. It wasn't until the car was parked that I let go of the blade. I zipped my purse and got out of the car, but before I went into my school, I made sure to tell my dad that I loved him one last time.

After the first bell school went on in a blur. Some classes dragged on and others passed by unnoticed. Teachers talked about sentence forms and fractions while the students around me tried to take notes. Their interior monologues saying, "I don't care, I don't care, I don't know, what are you talking about, when's lunch, what time is it, I don't care." But as they struggled to listen and learn, I just sat there. My mind wandered to the knife in my locker. My thoughts were so jumbled that I forgot to act normal. My state of mind kept me from seeing that my friends had begun to realize something was up.

A booming voice woke me from my daze. I looked around and realized that I was in my history class. '_History_,' I thought, '_good. That means next is lunch, and lunch is a good time to get away_.' My thoughts were interrupted when I felt something pinch the skin on my arm. I looked down to see that it was a piece of paper. Written on it was a note saying, "Are you o.k.?" I glanced to my right at the passer of the note, and the passer just happened to be one of my friends. I tried to ignore the piece of paper, but this individual friend just happened to be stubborn and kept pushing the paper into my skin. I finally caved and wrote a reply on the note, which happened to be the second most common lie in the world. My friend decided that she did not like the answer, though, and kept pushing me for the truth.

Finally, she just wrote on the piece of paper, "What's the matter?" I looked at it for a long time until I got myself to write back.

"Nothing," I wrote, "because nothing matters." My friend looked at it and then quickly wrote another question, "What do you mean?" I started getting nervous. '_She is asking too many questions, and if she finds out the truth she will get in the way_.' I started scratching my wrist, a habit I picked up earlier this year. My nails dug into my skin and my fresh scars and cuts there broke open again, bubbles of red pulling to the surface. Finally, I wrote back, "Nothing. Just that nothing matters anymore. 'Cause nothing's going to matter for a long time." She looked at me but there was something uneasy about her eyes. Then she raised her hand and asked our teacher if she could go to the bathroom.

I was glancing at the clock now. _'Too long,_' I thought. _'She's been gone too long. She didn't go to the bathroom, it's been too long._' The door to the classroom opened, and I saw my friend come in, her eyes on me, and suddenly I knew what she did. She figured it out and she told. _'No_,' I thought. _'No. No. No. No. This was supposed to be my day. This was the day I was finally going to end it, and it was going to be simple. A cut to the neck hits a main vain to the heart and takes five minutes. A cut to the wrist hits a main vain to the heart and takes ten minutes. And a cut to the stomach hits a main nerve, causing one to blackout, and takes from five to twenty minutes depending on blood flow._'

I looked over at my use-to-be-friend as she sat down. "Why," I asked, "and who." She looked over at me, "Because I care," she said, and then she turned to face the front of the class. After that my brain shut down. My friends followed me everywhere I went, and I released to my relief that my friend in history had told my other friends and not a teacher. By the end of the day, I managed to get past every question and threat my friends had given me, but as I sat after school waiting for my mother to pick me up, another one of my friends came to me to talk.

As he sat, I moved over to the far side of the couch I was on, not wanting to be near him. He looked me, "Are you o.k.?" he asked. I nodded in response, but then he surprised me saying, "I understand why you wanted to do it." I looked at him and he smiled. "I tried too," he said. "Well, really, I tried it a lot more than once." He kept going, saying how he tried to end his life and how everything had caused it. Then he stopped and looked at me, "Why did you try?" he asked. My heart froze at that question, and my hands started to tremble.

Suddenly every emotion in me broke and I started to cry. Everything I had ever kept in, I let out, and I told him everything that was causing my pain. As I cried, he rubbed my shoulder, soothing me. Once the tears dried, I felt drained. I realized that this was the first time I had cried in five years. I also realized how lucky I was to have my friends and how big of a mistake it would have been if I ended it now. After my friend left, I vowed that I would never try to end it again and that this day would be my secret, and that no one would ever be told it, until now.

I now sit, writing this memoir, thinking about my past. It was four years ago that this memory was made. Since then my relationship with God has strengthened more than ever, and my friends have become family. It is because of both of these relationships that I have now told my parents this event in my life. It is because of this event that I have grown stronger, but I hope to grow stronger still. Most of all, I would like to thank God for my friends because without them, I know I would not be here today.


End file.
